One thing I've realised about myself recently is that I really like road trips. Even though all I'm really doing is sitting in a moving car, I get excited.
I literally have been going on road trips since I was born. There's an annual family camping trip that we go on. Destination: northern California, along the Klamath river. This tradition started long before I was born. In fact, it started when my mom was a baby. I used to live near L.A., so this was a pretty long drive: at least eight hours. With a car full of two adults, two kids, and two dogs, you'd think things would be crazy with a lot of pit stops to regroup and maintain sanity. That's where you're wrong. We hardly ever stopped. Usually, the car stopped only when we needed more gas. My brother and I were trained to not have to pee for hours on end, even if we were drinking something during the drive.
A week ago, my mom asked if I wanted to tag along on a trip to Bellevue, WA with her and another English teacher. While they would be at a conference for AP teachers, I would be sitting in a hotel. Preferring to not be left home alone with my dad and brother, I said sure. She then told me there would be another teacher in the car (though she was getting a ride so she could visit her son who lives in Seattle), along with her youngest son. My mom and I started making jokes about how there would be an unspoken competition between me and everyone else in the car that would consist of seeing who would be the cause of any pit stops.
The day came for the trip, and we drove to Teacher one's house, because her car would be our mode of transport. This was when we learned that her sister-in-law would be joining us once we got to Roseburg and we would drop her off in Eugene. Only an hour or so and the car seats seven. No big deal. Or so we thought.
TO BE CONTINUED IN Living is Nice: Part 2 in Journeys to WA
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